


THE PASSION TRILOGY: Passion's Torment

by roryheadmav



Series: THE PASSION TRILOGY [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Crossdressing, Highlander - Freeform, M/M, Non Consensual, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-05-26
Updated: 1998-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan is haunted by a shameful event that took place when he was under the Dark Quickening. However, when he tries to make it up to Methos, something unforeseen happens, which brings back a painful secret from the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	THE PASSION TRILOGY: Passion's Torment

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Highlander fanfic, and possibly the first time that I ever experienced flames. Despite this, considering that it's my very FIRST fanfic, and I am particularly proud of the effort I put into writing it, I'm archiving it as well. AS AN ADDITIONAL WARNING, aside from being explicit non-con and some cross-dressing, I've been told that it's OOC. But there's a reason for the characters being OOC...if you get over the squickiness to continue on to the other three parts in the trilogy.

Duncan MacLeod tossed and turned restlessly on his bed caught between troubled sleep and wakefulness as his mind repeated again and again and again the events of the past few weeks.

Something was wrong. Something has been dreadfully wrong with him ever since he was freed from the insidious, yet very seductive, spell of the Dark Quickening.

And he knew what it was too. Something inside him was missing. Something that was taken away when the dark side of his soul was expunged by the cleansing waters of the holy spring.

Duncan realized this while he was still in the company of Rachel MacLeod and Renee Delaney.

Both strong, beautiful women. Both waiting for him to reciprocate – physically – the love they showed for him. But for some reason, he couldn't. Following his encounter with Khassim, Rachel decided to return to Glenfinnan and though he could see it in her eyes that she needed just a little more persuasion from him to convince her to stay, he had not insisted that she do so. In the case of Renee, the soon-to-be-married CID Agent actually went so far as to try to seduce him, even to the point of giving him an earnest kiss, causing both of them to fall into the River Seine.

Those kisses...a troubled frown formed on Duncan's brow. He had kissed both women and they too arrived at the same conclusion he had. It was this, more than anything else, which took them away from him...and, to his growing dread, is likely to drive away another, whom he cares more deeply for. Someone he'll be seeing again on the morrow.

"You've changed, Duncan," Rachel and Renee had both told him. "You lack the fire. You kiss me but I feel nothing there. Have the flames of passion been extinguished from you so soon?"

The Highlander groaned, laying his arm over his forehead. All his lovers had commented that he was a considerate and very giving man, putting their pleasures first before fulfilling his own. His present inability to express his love intimately bothered him. Duncan hasn't felt this way since that terrible summer in 1663.

Sudden remembrance of that time caused the Scot to sit bolt upright in bed, a gasp escaping his lips as uncontrollable shudders wracked his body. He had buried the memory deep within the darkest recesses of his mind. Even seeing Walter Graham again had not dredged it up and provoked such a violent reaction from him.

Slowly, Duncan breathed in and out, timing his soft breaths with the gentle rocking of the barge, trying to calm his trembling form. Crossing his arms over his chest, he held himself tightly. Closing his eyes, he sighed as a more pleasant memory took over, that of strong, comforting arms around him.

"Methos," he whispered, rocking back and forth.

It had been only a few days after his release from the Dark Quickening. The Highlander had been suffering from nightmares, practically reliving those horrible days when his dark side took control. But what he remembered the most were the appalling things he had done to Methos.

Ever since he first met the world's oldest living Immortal, Duncan found himself strangely attracted to Methos. In his 405 years of living a purely heterosexual life, this was the first time he had experienced such powerful emotions towards another man that, in order to protect his "masculine" image, he had to quell his feelings, something he had extreme difficulty in doing. It did not help any that Methos had fallen head-over-heels in love with a dying woman named Alexa, even going so far as to take her on a trip around the world. Duncan had been jealous then when he saw them off from Joe's, but he didn't want to lose a good friend over repressed desires.

Then, the Dark Quickening overwhelmed him and he suddenly found himself giving in to pent-up urges. It did not ease his conscience any better, knowing that Methos had left Alexa's deathbed to come to his aid, and he had used the older Immortal with the abominable savagery of a beast.

But that night, as he cried bitterly, tormented by guilt-ridden dreams, Methos had come to him, taking the weeping Highlander in his arms, rocking him soothingly like a little child.

"I'm sorry," Duncan had sobbed into the older man's ear. "I'm so sorry!"

  
"Sssshhhh," whispered Methos, running his fingers through the tousled hair. "There is nothing to forgive. Lord knows I wanted it..._wanted you_...so badly for a long, long, time now."

He had then cupped the Scot's face in his hands, making the younger man look into his hazel eyes. Duncan was completely taken aback by the love and desire he saw in them..._for him_.

At that moment, the older Immortal pressed his lips to his in a tender kiss. The Highlander closed his eyes, relishing the sweet caress. But when he felt Methos' hand going up his back, about to take him into a passionate embrace, suddenly, the ardor was gone. It felt like he was doused with cold water. Duncan just found himself turning away, almost roughly.

Methos pulled away then, looking at him dubiously. With his eyes, Duncan tried to tell him that he wanted more. However, he felt his body rebel against the idea. These opposing reactions confused him. His heart ached for Methos, but his body stubbornly refused to show what he was feeling. He even felt himself flinch when the other man touched his shoulder.

The Immortal, however, chose to ignore this and he smiled. "Sleep well, Highlander. Don't torture yourself with guilt over what happened. I have no regrets. Neither should you."

"But it wasn't me," he argued weakly, actually wanting to say that he hadn't been himself then. But he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

In his mind, the Scot refused to believe that that dark being was a part of him. Even now, though he called Evil Duncan MacLeod his "dark side", he still considered him a separate entity, an individual best forgotten.

Methos had looked hurt at this denial. Still, that reassuring smile remained on his face.

"We'll talk about this some other time, Mac," the Immortal told him patiently. "Not now. Not while you're in this state." He then admitted rather guiltily, "This isn’t right. I must get back to Alexa."

These words were said with such hesitation that it was Duncan who eventually insisted that the older man return to the dying woman. It had been difficult for him to do so, already certain of what he felt for Methos and what Methos felt about him. But then, the Highlander knew he had to let him go to the lover who needed him more.

Methos came back a couple of weeks later, attempting to steal Amanda's crystal to complete the Methuselah Stone, hoping that the fabled gem would save Alexa's life. But the stone itself was later lost in the river, and Alexa died soon after.

The Immortal was grief-stricken and it was Duncan who offered him comfort this time. Actually, he had timidly offered more than just a shoulder to cry on. When Methos had reciprocated, the Scot instinctively shrunk back from him, not realizing, until it was too late, that he had done so.

Methos stood up then, his jaw hardening in irritation and frustration. They looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, Duncan's eyes pleading with him not to be angry.

In the end, the older Immortal's features softened, though the pain still showed in his eyes. Breathing in deeply, he said, "I'm sorry, MacLeod. I guess I misunderstood you."

Before the Highlander could stop him, Methos turned his back on him and strode out of the barge.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, Duncan felt tears running down his cheeks as he whispered, "But you didn't."

Since then, things have been strained between them. Though they had a brief respite when they helped Robert and Gina de Valicourt get back together again, the tension remained. The Scot readily admitted it was all his fault. Many times he would woo Methos, wanting to take their relationship to a deeper level. But his body constantly betrayed him when the ancient Immortal returned his advances. More often than not, his sudden, unexplained rejection left Methos angry and frustrated.

Then, there was the Jakob Gollatti affair, and this only helped widen the rift.

When he found out that Methos helped Joe Dawson and the Watchers set up his gypsy friend, Duncan was furious.

"How could you let him do that?" he demanded then.

"It was a simple choice: Jakob Gollatti or you," Methos had said with such infuriating casualness. "And since I don't give a damn about Jakob Gollatti, it wasn't that difficult to make." Later, he also added, "I want to keep you alive." Even during their argument, the older man had shown how deep his feelings were for him. But Duncan was too angry to care.

Then, when it was all over, the Highlander found out that he * did * care, when Joe told him Methos had disappeared once again. Because of his own strained relationship with his Watcher over Jakob's death, for once, Duncan searched for Methos on his own, and he found the ancient Immortal. In fact, to his surprise, he hadn't left Paris at all. He just moved to another cheap hotel which, in Methos' own words, "only Adam Pierson could afford".

After numerous phone calls and messages, Methos finally decided to answer him back. It took a lot of persuasion on Mac's part to convince the older man to come and see him at the barge. The Scot couldn't blame Methos if he was rather apprehensive to see him at first. But, to his relief, he agreed to come anyway.

Methos' impending visit at noon the next day has made Duncan extremely agitated. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he was * going * to do to get it. However, his body quaked all over, resisting the plan with such force.

"No," he muttered under his breath, forcing the shudders to stop. "I love Methos. I will do anything for him, and you can't stop me from loving him."

But, even to his own ears, there was no fire in his words.

  
Methos stood at the Quay de la Tournelle, just along the edge of an Immortal's sensing range. But even from that distance, he could already see the barge bobbing gently in the river. Tucking the big box he carried securely under his arm, he eyed the boat with mixed feelings.

"How did I let MacLeod talk me into this?" Methos wondered out loud. Inside him, a tiny voice answered, * That's because you love him, you old fool. *

The ancient Immortal grudgingly agreed with this self-assessment. During the past few weeks, loving the Highlander has been heartbreakingly difficult, if not enough to make him look like a fool (and at his age even!), enough to drive him crazy.

As Duncan's handsome face crossed his mind, Methos breathed in deeply. He doesn't know if he made the right decision when he revealed to the Scot his true feelings for him. It seemed right at that time, given the fact that Duncan has been tormenting himself with guilt over what happened between them while he was under the influence of the Dark Quickening. And, though the violence of that moment shocked him, Methos certainly didn't have any regrets...none whatsoever...

  
_Inside the chapel, Methos waited patiently for Duncan to revive, having been shot dead by Robert Davies._

Seeing the young man gasp and stir, he asked with mocking cheerfulness, "Good morning! Feeling any better?"

What he didn't expect was for the Highlander to stand up and kick a candlestick down to the floor.

"What do you think?" Duncan growled, wincing at the pain in his chest as he slowly went up the altar steps.

Methos said smugly, "I think maybe you got what you deserved."

"You and your Watcher friends," the Highlander muttered with disdain. He burst into laughter. "Dawson's becoming a real pain in the ass."

The older man said casually, "Yes, well, I'll pass that along the line."

Duncan whirled around suddenly and shouted, "You do that!"

Methos was taken aback by the fury in his words. Cautiously, he suggested, "MacLeod, you need help."

The Highlander picked up a smaller candlestick in the corner and, mimicking a priest, mockingly said, "I don't need your help, my son."

"Have you tried looking in the mirror recently?"

"Yes," Duncan hissed in pleasure. "And I liked what I saw."

"Duncan," the older Immortal began, "I know what happened. First, Coltec. Now, you. This is a Dark Quickening. This is not who you are."

Methos said the last anyway, though he knew this wasn't entirely true – that the Dark Quickening simply caused the Scot's repressed dark side to surface.

"No," the younger man answered, "but maybe it's who I should be." Duncan ran down the steps, causing Methos to stumble back fearfully. Instead, the Highlander leaped onto the banister, squatting down on the narrow beam. Grinning at him like a malevolent troll, he waved his hands. "What you see is what you get."

"You can fight this," Methos insisted. "I can help you if you'll let me."

Duncan jumped down, grabbed a lighted candelabrum and pointed it menacingly at the Immortal.

"Yeah?" he asked. "And why would you want to do that?"

"Because of who you are." Methos then declared, "You're too important to lose!" In his mind came the unspoken words, * You're important TO ME, Duncan. I'm about to lose Alexa. I don't know what I'd do if I lose you too. *

The Highlander paused at these words, turning around slowly as his eyes fixed on the flickering flames of the candles. For a moment, the older Immortal saw a hint of the old Duncan in his dark brown eyes.

"I'm not lost," he heard the younger man say, his voice lacking conviction, as he threw the candelabrum down to the floor with a crash.

Methos went towards him, raising his hand, begging. "MacLeod, this can be your last chance to be saved."

"There's just one problem." Before Methos could move out of his reach, in one swift motion, Duncan pulled out his katana, grabbing a handful of the other man's sweater, and laid the sharp blade over his throat. Leering down at Methos, he hissed, "I don't want to be saved."

"You can't do this!" the ancient Immortal stammered in shock, struggling to break free. But the sword was dangerously close to his throat.

"No?" the Highlander asked as he raised his blade, ready to strike down.

"THIS IS HOLY GROUND!" Methos shouted, the strength of his voice trying to reach out to the goodness that still existed inside his friend's heart. Seeing Duncan falter, he hastily added, "Whatever evil is inside you, you cannot do this."

For a moment, the older man thought he had succeeded. He could see the warring emotions on Duncan's face. But his hopes were dashed too quickly. The Highlander's dark nature won and he shoved Methos hard that the Immortal skidded painfully on the floor, his back hitting the altar steps.

The Scot looked at the ancient sprawled on the floor before him. Turning, he strode towards the door. Methos thought the younger man would leave. But Duncan paused all of a sudden, his hand on the latch.

As Methos waited breathlessly, the Highlander glanced back at him. He paled, seeing the wicked grin on Duncan's face. The look of intense hunger and desire was unmistakable. Letting go of the latch, the Scot slowly walked back, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the chapel's empty hall. He did not stop until he stood over Methos.

"Duncan?" he asked nervously as the younger man bent down before him.

As he licked his lips, Duncan raised his hand and caressed the other's cheek.

"I love it when you call me that," the Highlander whispered suggestively.

Before Methos could move, Duncan grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, hard, insistent lips pressing down on his.

At first, he resisted, but he soon found himself succumbing to the man's passion. The ancient Immortal wanted to drown in that kiss. He has long imagined this, having the Scot's body pressed against his, arms around him in a passionate embrace, their lips locked tight.

However, remembering the present circumstances, Methos turned his head, pushing the other man away.

"No!" he gasped. "We can't do this!"

But Duncan gripped his shoulders firmly. "And why not? There's nothing in the rules which says we can't fuck in a church." Shaking the older man, he snarled, "Tell me why we shouldn't do this. You want it! I can see it in your eyes!"

"You're not yourself, Mac."

"But I am more...myself...now than ever before," the Highlander declared, the anguish and loneliness showing in his voice. "I am sick and tired of my old self. That weak fool who wouldn't want to let his feelings go, who wouldn't want to admit he desires another man."

Methos was stunned at these words, realizing that the man Duncan was referring to was him. "You don't know what you're saying. It's the effect of the Dark Quickening."

"The Dark Quickening released me. I am free of whatever inhibitions that fool shackled me with. What he doesn't have the courage to get, I will do so for him. And, besides," he said, giving the older man a meaningful look, "I don't think we'll have any problems. Am I right, Methos? After all, you do love me."

"You are not the man I fell in love with!" Methos stated, though his words lacked conviction.

It was a lame lie and he knew it. The Highlander he knew before...and this baser side of him...comprise the whole of the man he cherished and, yes, he had to admit it to himself. He loved this dark half as much as he did the other.

Methos sat back breathlessly as Duncan leaned forward and licked behind his ear. As if reading his mind, the younger man murmured, "I am a part of him, Methos. You know that. If you love the Boy Scout, you also love the barbarian."

Saying this, the Highlander pushed Methos down to the floor, holding his wrists above his head with one callused hand.

"No, Duncan! Don't do this!" he whimpered, feeling the other hand pulling both his sweater and the shirt underneath up to his neck, bunching it in the hollow between his chin and chest. The surrender, he knew, was imminent, adding the thought, We might regret it later if we do. The cold air chilled his skin.

The Scot lowered Methos' arms to his sides, pinning them with his knees. Methos quivered as he felt rough hands cup his pectorals, kneading them with his palms. Duncan pressed his lips down to the nipples, his tongue flicking over the taut peaks. A gasp escaped Methos' lips as teeth scraped over a nub.

"Kiss me, Methos," the Highlander begged him as he caressed the other tit. "Just do it."

Feeling his passion rising, the Immortal did as he was told, tugging at his hands as a sign that the other man should free him. As Duncan raised his knees, Methos swiftly removed his shirt and sweater with one quick tug. He then pulled the younger man up to him and savored the full, sensual lips, their tongues touching. Eagerly, he removed Duncan's coat and yanked the bloodied sweater up and over his head. Methos marveled at the muscular body above him, suddenly afraid to run his hands over that powerful torso. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would behold the Highlander's bare flesh in all its glory.

Already, he could feel his erection grind against the other's stiffening rod through the cumbersome jeans they both wore.

Duncan must have seen the admiration in his eyes. Holding the other man's hands, he opened the palms and let them roam freely over the firm mounds of his chest. Slowly, he guided the thumbs and forefingers to his nipples, willing the digits to close and roll his tits between them.

"Touch me, Methos," the Highlander moaned, enjoying the feel of the older man's fingertips on his hardened peaks. "Play with me."

Methos felt Duncan release his hands, but still he continued to tease the tiny nubs. Duncan's fingers went up to his ponytail, removing the tie with a quick tug, letting his long, dark brown hair tumble down his shoulders.

The sight of that glorious mane inflamed Methos. He found his hands leaving the other's chest and allowed his fingers to entwine around the soft locks. Tugging the Scot's head back with his left hand, he willed the younger man to arch his chest forward, supporting the upper back with his right hand. Methos' lips parted as his face descended on a turgid tit, suckling on it like a newborn on his mother's breast. Duncan shuddered with pleasure, pushing his nipple further into the older man's mouth. Slowly, with his right hand, Methos traced a sinuous trail down Duncan's spine, encircling the trim waist beneath the jeans. His fingers went forward and deftly undid the buckle, tugging the belt off. Then, Methos found the zipper and pulled it down. To his surprise, his fingers did not encounter the stretchable cloth of the briefs Duncan always wore. Instead, his hand closed around the Highlander's raging erection. Apparently, this Duncan didn't want to be encumbered by underwear.

"So," he heard the Scot mutter wickedly, "you want to play with swords, huh, Methos?" The Immortal felt the younger man's hands on his face and at the back of his neck. "Go ahead."

To his shock, the Highlander jerked his head back, fingers digging into his cheeks, forcing his mouth to open. Methos knew what was about to happen next. As he closed his eyes, he felt MacLeod's penis plunge between his lips, the teeth scraping the hardened shaft. Duncan cried out at the sharp pain. Still, he forced himself inside the other's mouth until he was deep within the silky throat.

Methos wanted to gag at this sudden invasion. Everything happened so fast that his throat had not adjusted yet to the huge member inside him.

"Suck me, old man!" the Scot grunted as he gave his cock an eager thrust. "Let me feel your tongue!"

The Immortal wanted to weep at this indignity, but there was nothing he could do. His jaw was held down in a vise grip. All he could do was suck and lick his tongue around the head and the hard shaft.

"Yes!" Duncan moaned with pleasure, rocking his hips back and forth. "Oh, yes! That is so good!"

Methos thought the Scot would come in his mouth. But Duncan pulled away, hastily removing his boots and jeans. As the ancient Immortal lay gasping for breath, he hardly noticed the younger man remove the buttons of his pants and yank them down. Before he realized what was happening, Methos found himself raised on his hands and knees, his legs spread wide apart.

Without any warning, the Highlander plunged his cock into Methos' tight ass. At the same time, his strong hands reached forward to grip the older man's erection. Methos screamed, feeling his flesh tear at the brutal onslaught. Duncan took him with such force that Methos felt like he was being skewered on the inside. Add the power of the hand as it pumped him mercilessly and the ancient Immortal thought he would die from the torture of the double sensations. Just when he thought he couldn't endure the pain and pleasure any longer, the Scot gave a wild cry as he climaxed, filling the older man. Methos' release came violently after, feeling himself come in strong spurts. The two men collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily, with Duncan on top of Methos.

Methos could hardly move. His body ached all over. He knew what Duncan did to him was wrong, but another part of him that was used to rough lovemaking reveled in it, enjoyed it thoroughly, and he wanted more.

"Oh my God!" he barely heard that shocked voice whisper in his ear.

He winced, feeling MacLeod pull out of him abruptly. Turning over on his back, he saw the Highlander looking down at him, the horror and anguish written all over his face.

"Methos!" Duncan cried, tears welling up in his eyes. Distraught, he unconsciously lapsed into brogue. "Wha' 'ave I done? Ma God, wha' 'ave I done?"

"Keep that up and I'll rape you too." The ancient Immortal didn't realize that he had spoken it out loud.

Now that he had given voice to what the Scot had done to him, he saw the shocked look on Duncan's face. Methos suddenly found himself filled with the strong urge to violate the stricken, yet suddenly normal, Highlander in his present state. The Scot must have seen the fierce desire in his eyes because Duncan took a step back in fear.

Then, Methos saw Duncan close his eyes, his arms wrapping around his trembling form. "No! Please! No mair! I dinna want ta do these terrible things!"

As the older Immortal looked on, Duncan's back straightened, the wicked grin slowly returning to his face.

"You may not want it," the Scot began, licking his lips, "but I do."

Methos swallowed hard as he felt rough hands take him again.

"What was it you said about raping me?" Duncan asked teasingly, hugging the other man's slim form.

These words were enticement enough for Methos. Swiftly, he pushed the Highlander down on his back, straddling him, pinning his wrists above his head.

The surprise on Duncan's face was only momentary. Smiling seductively, he asked, "Are you going to hurt me?"

"What do you think?" Methos said in turn as he bent over the younger man.

Soon, it was all over, though to Methos, what only took a few minutes seemed to have lasted for hours. Exhausted but fulfilled, Methos pulled out of the Scot roughly, a small revenge for Duncan's hasty withdrawal from his body earlier, causing the younger man to gasp at the burning pain.

Panting for breath, Duncan turned to his side to face the man beside him. Leaning forward, he whispered in his ear, "That was good, Methos! That was really good!"

Methos was in such a dazed state that he barely noticed MacLeod shakily get to his feet, blood and semen trickling down his legs. Neither did he notice the younger Immortal put on his clothes and leave the chapel. He just lay on the floor, waiting for his hurts to heal.

But cries outside the chapel jolted him to alertness. Still trembling, Methos got dressed. Running outside, he saw Duncan harassing a couple of lovers in their car. Before the ancient could stop him, MacLeod forced the youngsters out and commandeered the vehicle. As Duncan drove off, Methos could hear the Highlander's laughter ringing in his ear...

The ancient Immortal opened his eyes, returning to the recent events of the present. Since the Dark Quickening, he thought things would be better between him and MacLeod, especially now that everything was out in the open, so to speak. Duncan seemed to want him just as much as he wanted him...sometimes...

At this thought, Methos shook his head because, in truth, he didn't know what Duncan wanted. Many times, the Highlander would make shy overtures towards him. When he returned his timid advances, at first, Duncan would respond with such fire, but afterwards, quickly turn away like a skittish colt. In the beginning, Methos attributed it to the experience they had with the Dark Quickening. However, after more misses than hits, and the fact that, after Alexa's death, he desperately needed solace – comfort he thought the Scot would give him, the ancient finally lost his patience with the younger man and decided to leave him. But for some reason, he couldn't leave Paris. All he did was move to a different hotel. Somehow, the idea of putting a big ocean between him and MacLeod didn't seem appealing to him.

Restless, Methos decided to rummage through the basement of the old Watchers headquarters, just to keep his mind off the handsome Scot. What he found in the musty basement only helped remind him of Duncan more. Then, to his exasperation, the Highlander found him, calling at the hotel and leaving countless messages at the front desk. Eventually, he answered one such phone call and, though he had his reservations, Methos allowed Duncan to persuade him to come to the barge and see him.

Now that he could see the barge itself, Methos hesitated, thinking that, maybe, he was making a big mistake. He glanced at his watch and saw that he was already late by an hour and a half. Raising a hand to the box which contained the items he found in the Watchers HQ cellar, the Immortal was caught between wanting to go down to the barge and going back to where he came from.

As Methos struggled with his dilemma, Duncan chose that moment to emerge on deck. The frown on his handsome face was a clear sign that the young Immortal was worried about him.

Despite the cold weather, Duncan was dressed in a loose shirt of gray silk. The black jeans hugged his lean hips and legs. Looking on, Methos saw the Highlander wrap his arms around himself, tilting his head to allow the gentle breeze to lift his long locks in a chocolate brown halo.

Methos could barely suppress the shiver in his body, his stomach tingling at the sight of the young Scot.

_My God!_ he thought to himself, feeling his groin give an eager twitch. _That man's a siren!_

Then, as if hearing Methos' thoughts, MacLeod turned to his direction. Squinting for a moment through the sun's glare, his face brightened, a glorious smile forming on his face when he recognized the older Immortal.

"Methos!" he called, the relief evident in his voice as he waved.

"That's it! I'm caught!" Methos mumbled smugly, all plans of an unnoticed departure going down the drain. That devastating smile was enough to make him come undone.

Grinning, Methos shouted back, "Hello, MacLeod!" as he made his way down the quay, heading for the barge.

  
What followed was a sumptuous lunch (_Duncan is a fantastic cook!_ mused Methos.) and a quiet conversation between the two friends. They talked about anything and everything, even enjoying a satisfying couple of rounds of chess while they did so. But they never talked about the state of affairs between them. Methos noticed that the Scot wanted to broach the topic, but the older man steered the talk in another direction. This caused a momentary flash of hurt in Duncan's eyes, which the older Immortal chose to ignore.

So engrossed was he in their conversation that the package he brought for his friend almost skipped his mind.

"Here! I almost forgot!" Methos reached for the box on the side table. Handing it to MacLeod, he said, "This is for you. I found these in the old Watchers building. I thought you might like to have them."

Methos watched, grinning, as Duncan eagerly tore the wrapper and opened the box, removing the thin sheets of paper covering the contents. But to his dismay, the expression that slowly formed on the young Immortal's face was not what he expected. From a look of anticipation, Mac had turned deathly pale. He stood up, stepping back from the box in fear. Then, Methos saw the jaw harden.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Duncan asked softly. "If it is, I don't think it's funny."

"It's not meant to be." Methos stared at him in bewilderment. "I don't understand. Mac, what's wrong? It's not as if you haven't seen women's clothing before. Besides, you wore these when you played Juliet for Walter Graham. Take a look, Duncan! They're still as good as new!"

The ancient Immortal ran his fingers over the white and pink silk gown, tracing the intricate embroidery of pink roses along the curving décolletage of the bodice. He touched the shiny, gold buckles of the shoes and the soft fabric of the stockings.

When Methos raised the corset from the box, Duncan visibly shuddered, turning away from the thing.

"What do you want from me, Methos?" he queried nervously. "Do you want me to play Juliet to your Romeo?"

"I remembered you collect stuff from your past," the older man answered, feeling more perplexed. "When I saw these in a trunk, I thought you'd like to have them."

Then, realizing what the Highlander was implying, Methos eyed him suspiciously. "Wait a minute! Just what _exactly_ are you asking me? Did you think I gave these to you so I could...we could..."

There was a flush on Duncan's cheeks as he hastily stammered, "No, I didn't mean..."

It was Methos' turn to be angry now. "Oh, I know what you meant. But unlike you, I'm not going to avoid the issue. I'll be brutally honest. Yes, I admit it. I wanted to see you in that dress. It has been my fantasy ever since Walter told me how fetching you looked in it!"

Flustered, Duncan declared, "I don't want to talk about this anymore!" as he started to walk to the other side of the room.

But Methos grabbed his arm and pulled him back roughly. "Yes, we need to talk about this. We need to talk about it _now_!" he yelled, shaking the younger man's shoulders, his strength a contrast to his slim form.

"What do you want from me, Methos?" Duncan asked again, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Do you really want to know what I want from you?" Saying this, Methos ground his mouth to the other's fuller lips. At first, Duncan resisted, but slowly he felt himself giving in to the older man's kiss.

"Tell me what you want from me, Duncan," Methos muttered in his ear, their lips parting as he nuzzled his neck. "Tell me."

_I want this,_ Duncan answered in his mind. _God, I want this._

But when Methos' arms went around him, MacLeod felt a sudden jolt in his body, causing him to wrench away from the other Immortal. Leaning breathlessly against the bulkhead, trying to calm the tremors that shook him, he looked at Methos. The handsome face was devoid of all emotion, but the hard set of his lithe form clearly showed how furious he was.

"Methos?" Duncan asked hesitantly.

Waving a hand to the Scot's shivering form, Methos stated gruffly, "This is what I mean, Mac. I don't know what kind of game you're playing with me. I don't know who you are now and I don't know what you want from me. In fact, I liked you a hell of a lot better when you were still under the influence of the Dark Quickening. At least, you were more honest with your feelings back then."

"But that wasn't me," the Highlander argued weakly.

"That Duncan MacLeod, that EVIL Duncan MacLeod, as you would like to think he is, is a part of you, God damn it, and don't you dare keep on denying it to me!"

The Scot almost staggered at the force of his words. Methos had never been this angry with him before.

"Methos, I'm sorry. I..." Duncan was about to say but the other Immortal grabbed him again.

_"Stop saying you're sorry, damn you!"_ Methos spat in his face. _"You sure as hell were not sorry back then and you shouldn't be now!"_

Despite his smaller build, the older man seemed to possess fierce strength when angry. He gripped the Highlander so hard that his fingers began to form dark bruises on the golden skin of Duncan's arms.

"Did you think what happened in that chapel in LeHavre was rape?" Methos asked grimly. "Well, it was not! It was rough, yes. But I loved it, and you definitely loved it too! After the spring cleansed your spirit, I thought you accepted that side of you – the side that wanted me, that _loved me_."

"Methos," Duncan began, clinging to the ancient, pleading with him insistently, "but I do love you!"

"Then what the hell's the matter with you?"

The Scot winced at his desperate cry, his eyes clouding, unable to speak. Exasperated, the older man shoved him down to the couch.

"Duncan," said Methos, his voice wanting to break as he choked back a sob, "for the past weeks, after we came from the spring, you've led me to believe that you wanted me, that I was special to you. Even when I was with Alexa...even while she lay dying in the hospital...all I could think about was you. But when I came back...when I wanted to hold you in my arms...when I wanted to kiss you...you turned away from me. First, you're full of fire, scorching me with desire for you, and then, you turn to ice on me. Why, MacLeod? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Please, believe me! I never meant to hurt you!" Duncan begged him earnestly.

_"Well, you're driving me insane!"_ Methos cried out, holding on to his temples in sheer desperation and frustration. "You know what you are, Mac? You're a damned prick tease, and I won't have anymore of your games!"

At these words, Methos spun on his heels, about to storm out the door. Quickly, the Highlander got to his feet, seizing his friend's hand.

"Methos, I'm sorry!" Duncan let the tears flow freely. "Please don't go! Please give me another chance!" Almost whispering, he added, "Something's wrong with me! This is what's been preventing me from giving myself to you!"

But Methos glared at him. "Oh, something's wrong with you all right. However, I don't think I have the patience for you anymore to find out what it is!"

The ancient Immortal tore his hand from the younger man's grasp as he strode out of the barge.

Shocked by what happened, Duncan just stood at the doorway long after Methos had gone, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his face. Slowly, he made his way back to the couch and sagged down wearily into it, his mind greatly distressed.

He just sat there for several minutes, staring blankly into space. Then, his eyes fell upon the box. Duncan cupped his face in his hands, feeling his body cringe at the long buried memory its contents dredged up from his mind. When the shudders passed, he closed the box and his hand reached for the phone on the side table.

As he dialed the number, the Highlander picked up the box and laid it on his lap, waiting, as the phone on the other end began to ring.

Hearing the familiar voice answer, Duncan spoke into the handset. "Amanda? It's Duncan. I'd like to see you. I need your help."

"You have to be kidding!" Amanda blurted out loud as she paced from one end of her hotel suite to the other.

There was a shocked look on her face as she gaped at the Highlander, who sat timidly in an armchair, the open box on his lap.

Duncan grimaced at the loud volume of her voice. Softly, he asked, "Don't tell me you're angry with me too?"

Noting the deep sadness in his words, Amanda quickly knelt down before him, laying her hand over his. "No...no. I was just...surprised...that's all."

The Scot smiled weakly as his dear friend and occasional lover comfortingly caressed his cheek. "Surprised that all-macho Duncan MacLeod is a closet case?"

"Well...maybe," Amanda said mischievously. "Let's face it! I've known you for a very, very long time and I never...well..." The pretty thief winked at him. "You understand. Well, who's the lucky guy? He must be very special if you'll go to these lengths to win his love. When you offer your heart to someone, you give it all."

His mind drifted off at her last statement. _If you only knew that my inability to give is the reason why I'm losing Methos._

"Earth to MacLeod!" he heard Amanda's persistent voice pierce the fog in his head. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

Duncan sighed. "It's Methos."

It was his turn to be surprised. There was a warm smile on Amanda's face.

He looked at her curiously. "Have I missed something?"

"Just the fact that I've known for quite some time now that Methos has feelings for you."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

"Methos would have taken my head," she declared. "No, seriously, he made me promise not to tell you. He said that he knew where your sexual preferences lay and that he's content to have you as a good friend. I guess things changed between the two of you."

Duncan glanced down, a bit embarrassed to look at her.

"Let me guess. You had a fight?"

"Yes," the Highlander simply answered.

"And," Amanda then began, "you want to get Methos back and you think these," laying both hands over the contents of the box, "might help."

For some strange reason, she saw a flash of fear...no, terror...in Duncan's eyes. In fact, Amanda noted that, during their conversation, he had avoided looking inside the box. Nevertheless, he nodded his head firmly, the fierce desperation showing on his face.

"I just have one question."

Duncan waited for her to speak.

Amanda looked him straight in the eye. "Are you damned sure you want to do this?"

The Highlander thought for a moment. "Yes. I would do anything to get Methos back."

_I knew you would,_ Amanda mused to herself, knowing the Scot's extremely generous nature. Clapping her hands, she announced, "Very well! Welcome to Amanda's House Of Style. But before we begin, you need to take a bath."

Going to the dresser, the beautiful Immortal began taking out a selection of bottles and jars and dumped them all in MacLeod's arms.

Duncan looked at the load he was carrying. Picking up the biggest jar of all, he glanced at the label and frowned. He asked dubiously, "Is this necessary?"

"If we want to do this right," Amanda said mysteriously, "yes, it is."

She then pushed him towards the bathroom. Grinning, she teased, "Use the bathtub, Mac. And take your time. I want you smelling nice and sweet."

Methos was back in his room at the rattrap hotel he was staying at. He was still fuming mad, pacing restlessly. Going to the fridge, he opened his third can of beer. But he couldn't get Duncan out of his mind.

As he took a long swig, Methos exclaimed, "I'm really going crazy!"

Putting the brush down, Amanda gazed at her handiwork, very pleased.

"So far, so good," she commented, a perverse tingle going through her body as she looked at the Highlander.

"I want to see," MacLeod said, pulling the bathrobe around him, getting to his feet as he spotted the mirror.

But Amanda pushed him back down on the bench. Waving a scolding finger before his eyes, she said, "Not until I'm finished! Come on! Let's get you dressed!"

The ancient Immortal plopped down on his bed, the seventh can of beer left untouched on the side table. As he laid his arm over his eyes, he tried to think of something else, even the smiling face of Alexa.

However, the seductive image of the Highlander on the deck of the barge, his long hair flying in the wind, kept intruding inside his thoughts.

Finding himself exceedingly horny, Methos groaned. "I'm not just going crazy! I'M OBSESSED!"

His right hand slowly went down to the pronounced bulge in his jeans. Freeing the growing erection, the Immortal sighed with pleasure as he began to stroke himself gently.

After some fierce tugging, a winded Amanda finally had the stays tied. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she made the Highlander turn around to face her.

"Looking good," Amanda said mischievously as Duncan gasped for breath, leaning against the table. She placed two fingers to her chin, thinking. "But it still needs something."

"I'll die if you make this damned thing any tighter," Duncan complained, his cheeks flushed, trying to adjust his breathing to the tight undergarment.

Amanda noticed that the Scot refrained from looking at himself and, for some unknown reason, he seemed terribly frightened to be wearing the thing. At one point, Duncan resisted while she was still pulling at the ties, but he had willed himself forcibly to relax.

Feeling apprehensive all of a sudden, she asked, "We could stop this if you want to. If this makes you uncomfortable..."

"No," he replied at once, shaking his head. "Just give me the works, Amanda."

Amanda shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "If that's your decision."

Saying this, the lovely Immortal took the rouge and brush once again, bending down before him to do her work.

"Do you always do this?" she heard Duncan ask, feeling his body quiver beneath her fingers.

"No," Amanda answered. "But this is a very special case."

When she was finished, she smoothed out the color with her fingertip, enjoying the feel of the sensitive patches of skin.

Duncan sighed at her touch. "You really like what you're doing."

"You bet," declared Amanda sensuously. "This is my first time to do something like this and I'm enjoying myself immensely. Just one last thing."

Going to the cabinet, she pulled out a long, white sash.

"What's that for?" Duncan asked, seeing her slide the lengthy piece of fabric between her fingers.

Cryptically, she said, "If we're going to make this right, the illusion has to be perfect." He felt a gentle upward tug as Amanda began tying the sash around and around his waist.

Methos' frenzied strokes matched his increasing frustration and his need. But, still, he couldn't reach his release, being so riled up with anger.

_"Damn it!"_ he shouted to the ceiling as he felt his erection deflate like a balloon.

Then, a lascivious grin formed on Methos' face as he filled his mind with a different fantasy – that of a chapel on a hillside, he and the Highlander together again, but with the roles reversed. In his daydream, he could see Duncan lying on the altar steps, fear showing on his gorgeous face.

"Let's see you get out of this one, Mac," he muttered in satisfaction as his fingers again closed around his hardening cock.

"Oh my God!" Amanda exclaimed in obvious delight as she completed the finishing touches. "I've really outdone myself this time."

Eagerly, she pulled the Highlander towards the huge mirror and made him stand before it.

The shocked look on Duncan's face thrilled her. Even he couldn't believe what he was seeing. So stunned was he at the transformation that his hand went up to gingerly touch his cheek.

"If that doesn't get Methos back," she said smugly, "I don't know what will. In fact, I'll call him up right now."

Duncan spun around to face his friend, feeling frightened all of a sudden. "Amanda, wait!"

Amanda put her hands on her waist. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet!"

"No...it's just that..." he stammered, totally at a loss. "What am I going to do when he gets here?"

Amanda winked at him. "Don't worry! I have it all worked out. All you have to do is...play along."

The phone rang as Methos was in the middle of a fantasy-induced haze. As he approached the climax, he was imagining he was deep inside the struggling Scot, thrusting in and out of him vigorously. But the sound of the phone kept distracting him.

While his right hand continued pumping, feeling his release imminent, his left groped for the phone.

The moment he pressed the handset to his ear, Methos reached orgasm, practically hissing, "Yesss?" As semen filled his hand, he exclaimed, "Shit!"

"Methos?" he heard Amanda ask over the line worriedly. "Are you all right?"

_Damn that woman!_ Methos thought angrily as he hastily wiped his hand on the bed sheet. Then, he said gruffly, "I'm fine, Amanda. You just caught me at a very bad time. What's up?"

Somehow, hearing the silence at the other end, the ancient Immortal had an inkling that the lovely thief knew what he was doing.

"I need to see you, Methos," Amanda broke her silence. "I have a business proposition for you."

Methos barely suppressed his groan. "Can't this wait till tomorrow? I'm really busy right now."

"This can't wait!" she insisted. "Here's my hotel and room number." Amanda then dictated the information. "I'll be expecting you at 6 PM. And don't you dare NOT show up!"

Before the Immortal could argue, Amanda hung up.

Growling at the phone, Methos stood up, glancing down at his stained pants in dismay. "Let her wait! I'm taking a shower first!"

  
Meanwhile, Amanda turned to Duncan, very excited. "He's coming!" and, as an afterthought, she added, "And he's as horny as hell! Come on! Let's set things up!"

Despite her zeal, however, there was a growing sense of foreboding in the Highlander's heart.

Methos arrived at Amanda's suite two hours late. The ancient Immortal decided to go casual, choosing to wear a dark blue shirt, jacket and slacks.

Before he could even knock, the door burst open and Amanda stood at the doorway, looking at him accusingly.

"You're late!" she stated bluntly.

"Sorry!" Methos answered dryly. "I had to take a shower and change into some decent wardrobe."

As Amanda took his jacket, he asked, "So what's this business proposition you have for me?"

"Well," she slowly began, sinuously putting her arm around his as she escorted him inside, closing the door behind them. "I was planning to revive an old business of mine. You remember the 'Queen Of Spades'? I'm sure Mac told you all about it. A delightful little place where men could gamble and have a quiet evening with some beautiful ladies."

Methos raised a knowing eyebrow at her. "Ah! You're talking about a whorehouse!"

Amanda slapped his arm lightly. "How dare you? Women of the world's oldest profession do not want to be called whores."

"Oh, forgive me, please!" he said sarcastically.

She gave him a pout. "Anyway, I have all the girls I need. But one of them, I'm afraid, is a bit of a problem."

"Why's that?"

"Her father owes me a lot of money and he managed to convince the poor girl into working for me."

"I see! So you're not just dealing in prostitution. You're getting into white slavery as well."

"Just shut up and let me finish." Amanda took a deep breath and continued. "I should tell you this. She is actually willing to do anything just to help her father. The problem is she is terrified of men. She even hit one prospective client when he made a pass at her."

Realization dawned on Methos' handsome face. "Let me guess! You want me to tame this little vixen."

"With all your worldly experience," Amanda began, leading him to a closed door, "you can do wonders for her."

"Read my lips – N...O! Find another stud!"

He was about to walk off but Amanda dragged him back. "Why don't you look at her? I'm sure you'll like her."

"I'm sure I will," Methos said half-heartedly, tugging at his arm. "Maybe when someone else has tamed her."

"I'd like you to meet her just the same!"

Saying this, Amanda swung the door open, shoving the Immortal inside.

"Amanda!" he cried out indignantly. But he stopped, his jaw dropping in shock at the sight he beheld. Amused, Amanda crept up beside him and pushed his slack jaw up.

"Duncan?" Methos whispered in disbelief.

The Highlander stood at the foot of the large bed, dressed in the white and pink silk gown Methos had given him. His hair was tied up in a loose bun with a pink ribbon. Two wispy brown locks framed his face, ending in delicate pin curls which fell on his shoulders.

Duncan's face was lightly made up, the blush accentuating his high cheekbones. His full lips were colored rose red.

With his hair tied up, the graceful lines of his neck showed. Amanda, the ancient noticed, was wise enough to cover his Adam's apple with a white neckband. The smooth shoulders were partially bared. To the pretty thief's chagrin, she realized that the Highlander had tugged the sleeves of the off-shoulder gown up.

Methos felt his eyes following the plunging décolletage. The corset Duncan obviously wore underneath lifted his pectorals quite nicely to give the appearance of ample breasts. To his delight, he could see the impression of two tiny nubs straining against the thin fabric.

It was no wonder that Walter Graham said that the Scot looked fetching in that dress. But surely even he could not have imagined MacLeod's transformation at Amanda's deft hands.

Despite his height and build, Duncan looked every inch a woman...and a very beautiful one at that.

Methos was suddenly reminded of another woman from his past. She had been a virgin priestess at the temple of Athena who had willingly given up her life to the sacrificial fires. With the silken ties around the Highlander's wrists, he looked every inch a proud sacrificial virgin.

Seeing the awe on his face, Amanda went towards Duncan.

"What do you think of Juliet now, Methos?" she said enticingly, running her fingers along Duncan's neck, tracing the pulsating artery. With a sharp tug, she pulled the sleeves an inch down, baring his shoulders. Her hands went around and cupped the swell of his chest. "Don't you think she's beautiful?"

Methos could feel himself becoming hard at Amanda's shameless baiting, but he quickly quelled the impulse.

"All right, Amanda, I'll do it," the older Immortal declared, getting into the act. He then added, "But this had better be worth my time." Methos said this more for the Scot's benefit than hers.

Duncan caught the tone in his voice, but he chose not to speak. Instead, he just lowered his head submissively.

"Very well!" Amanda said in finality. "I'll leave you two alone then. I'm going to see Joe." Before she closed the door, she peered through the crack. "Methos! Be nice to her!"

The two men waited until they heard both the bedroom and front doors close with locking clicks. If Duncan knew Amanda, she probably hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob. For awhile, they just stared at each other.

It was Methos who broke the silence. "What can I say?" he began nervously. "You look...beautiful!"

Duncan smiled shyly. "Thanks."

"Why are you doing this, Mac?"

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Yes, but..." Methos gently covered the bound hands with his own. "Do * you * want to do this?"

The Scot looked him straight in the eye. With all the determination he could muster, he answered simply, "Yes."

The older man felt the hands tremble in his grasp. "Are you sure? Once we start this, I'll see it through the end...whether you like it or not."

Duncan heard the warning tone in his words. All he could do was swallow hard and nod his head.

Removing the ties around the wrists, Methos let them fall to the floor.

"My beautiful Juliet!" he whispered as he kissed the younger man, nothing more than a feather-like caress on the full lips.

Pausing for a moment, Methos peered at the other's face. The Highlander had his eyes closed, the lips parted slightly. At this clear invitation, the Immortal pressed his lips harder on that sensual mouth.

MacLeod resisted briefly, but then he slowly felt himself giving in, eagerly meeting the older man's kiss, opening his mouth, allowing Methos to explore his moist depths. Methos suppressed the smile that was beginning to form when he felt Duncan's tongue tentatively brush his inner cheek.

Methos' hands went up and freed the loose bun of Duncan's hair. As the chocolate-colored mane tumbled down on his fingers, his nose detected the exquisite scent of fresh apples.

Nuzzling his face in the silk of Duncan's hair, Methos muttered, "You're delicious enough to eat." He then nipped at the earlobe, causing the younger man to gasp.

Emboldened by that sound, Methos pulled the Highlander to him, relishing the feel of the body against him. As his hand went down to the cinched waist, the older Immortal began leaving a sinuous trail of kisses from his neck, down to his left shoulder.

"Methos..." Duncan whispered, feeling the familiar, yet unwelcome, rebellious quiver in his body threatening to surface.

"Don't be afraid, Duncan," the other man reassured him. "Just hold me."

Forcefully willing the tremors to cease, the Scot placed his arms around Methos' neck, holding fast to him like a drowning man.

"Not so tight, MacLeod," he heard Methos chuckle. "You're choking me."

When he felt the younger man about to pull away in embarrassment, Methos held on to his waist. "Relax, Duncan. Go with the flow."

To show him, the Immortal began running his fingers up and down Duncan's spine. He felt the arms around his neck loosen and he smiled as the Scot gave him that same soothing caress.

Then, the Highlander, to his pleasant surprise, became even more daring, feeling inquisitive hands brush his chest. Duncan faltered when he felt Methos stop his sensuous back rub.

In answer, the Immortal took Duncan's hands and placed them on the thin fabric covering his chest. With a nod of approval from the older man, MacLeod removed the buttons of Methos' shirt and pulled it down. Nervously, his fingertips touched a taut peak. Methos sighed with pleasure as the Highlander gently tweaked his nipple.

Lowering his head, Methos smothered with kisses the swell of Duncan's chest above the plunging neckline, loving the scent of wild flowers and heather on the silky, smooth skin. It was only then that the older Immortal noticed the absence of the velvety down on the younger man.

Feeling Duncan tense up once more, he used this observation to tease him, to make him relax. "You shaved?"

That question brought a nervous laugh to the Highlander's lips. "Hair remover. Amanda has a big jar of the stuff."

"You applied it liberally, I hope."

Seductively, Duncan answered, "It's up to you to find out."

"Oh, I will! I will!" Methos said with much enthusiasm, running his open palm over the sweet prominences straining against the silk bodice. As they pinched each other's tits, their lips met once more in a passionate kiss.

"Ooooh!" Duncan moaned as Methos squeezed his nipple hard.

"Gods, I can't take much more of this," the ancient Immortal growled as the Highlander rolled a taut peak between his fingers. "I want to feel you."

At these words, he swiftly undid the buttons at Duncan's back. As his hand slid down the corset, Methos felt the silk sash round the younger man's waist, but he chose to ignore it for the meantime. Instead, he slid his hands further down and, with his open palm, cupped the rounded cheeks of Duncan's bare rump.

So caught up was he in his own passion that Methos didn't notice the Scot begin to stiffen in his arms, his dark brown eyes snapping open in fear.

Joe Dawson grinned in amusement, seeing the disappointed look on Amanda's face.

"Hmmmph!" the pretty thief declared huffily. "And I thought I was giving you THE scoop."

"Come on, Amanda," said Joe, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. "I'm a Watcher. It's my business to watch so I notice things."

"Including the fact that MacLeod has fallen for Methos?"

"Especially that."

The Immortal and the Watcher were drinking in a bar, not too far from the new Watchers HQ. When Amanda called Joe up, he was actually in the middle of arranging, chronologically, the journals his predecessors had written about his Immortal, Duncan MacLeod.

Joe smiled inwardly at this thought. He just couldn't help but feel protective and possessive about Mac. Duncan may be one of the most powerful Immortals on the planet, not to mention one of the most stubborn men he has ever met, but there was an air of vulnerability surrounding him that made Joe sometimes feel fatherly, for lack of a better word, towards him.

However, Joe was constantly placed in an extremely delicate position. A Watcher's main objective is to watch and never to interfere. But he has been so taken with the Scot for the many years that he has merely observed him, that it hadn't been difficult for Joe to finally get the courage up to introduce himself to Duncan and, after eventually earning the Immortal's trust and friendship, reveal to him about the existence of the Watchers.

Since then, he has broken the rules so many times to help his friend that, many times, he has placed the secret organization in jeopardy. And, many times as well, it was Duncan himself who constantly reminded him of that fact, even to the point of deliberately hurting Joe.

The Jakob Gollatti fiasco was no exception. The death of the Highlander's gypsy friend has driven a wedge between them that was difficult to mend, which was quite understandable. After all, he did help set up Gollatti, albeit unwittingly.

Still, Joe wished that things would go back to the way they were before. Knowing MacLeod's kind-hearted nature, he knew the Immortal would eventually forgive him. But it may take a bit longer than usual this time.

The Watcher thought that the state of affairs between Duncan and Methos would help. Actually, he was expecting the Scot to call him up and ask for his help in locating the elusive ancient Immortal. Of course, he underestimated the Highlander's fierce tenacious streak. To his total surprise, Duncan managed to locate Methos on his own.

"Ah, love!" he unconsciously said out loud, smiling.

"Huh?" queried Amanda, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

Joe laughed softly. "I said, 'Love'. I just find it rather sweet that Mac is wooing Methos the same way he did Debra Campbell, Sarah Carter, Tessa and Anne."

"And you're not...you know..."

"Why should I be? Besides, who am I to prevent Mac from seeking his happiness?"

Amanda fell silent at these words, wondering if she should tell the Watcher what she had observed earlier. She knew about the current troubles between Joe and Duncan because of Jakob Gollatti, and she's pretty sure that the Watcher has been keeping a discrete distance to give some time for MacLeod to think things through. So Joe may not be aware of what's been happening to his friend.

The Watcher noticed her silence. "Is something wrong?"

"Um...Joe..." the Immortal thief hesitated, tapping her fingers restlessly on the table. "I think there's something you should know."

"What?" Joe asked, a worried frown forming on his face.

Amanda breathed in deeply. "I don't think Duncan's happy."

Methos frowned, feeling the unresponsive body against him. Despite his hot kisses and passionate caresses, it felt like he was having sex with a corpse.

"Duncan?" he asked, looking at the younger man.

The Highlander stared out into space, his eyes glazed as if in a trance.

"Mac?" Methos said louder. But he didn't get any reaction. _"Mac!"_

In growing frustration, he shook the Scot roughly by the shoulders. "DUNCAN!"

Duncan blinked once and then twice, still dazed.

"It's all right, Mac," Methos tried to calm him, kissing his cheek.

However, to his shock, Duncan twisted away from his embrace. The wrenching force was strong enough to knock Methos down to the floor. That loud thump he made as he fell shook the Highlander, who was cowering behind a bedpost, out of his trance.

"Methos?" Duncan ex  
laimed in disbelief, seeing his lover on the floor. "Methos! What...what did I..." He was about to go towards him, to help him up. But Methos' hazel eyes gave him a smoldering glare that he paused, suddenly afraid.

_"God damn it!"_ the Immortal leaped to his feet, bellowing in rage.

To fight back, to defend himself, never entered the Scot's mind. Terrified, all he could think about was to flee. But as he started to run from him, Methos tackled Duncan, sending the Highlander sprawling on the carpet.

"And where do you think you're going?" the older man declared. Grabbing fistfuls of the voluminous skirt, he began pulling MacLeod back towards him.

Digging his fingers into the younger Immortal's shoulders, Methos yanked Duncan to his feet.

"You're not going to do this to me again, Duncan MacLeod," he muttered ominously. Shaking him hard, Methos shouted, _"Do you hear me?"_

The Highlander felt his eyes becoming wet, turning his face away from his friend's fury. But Methos sank his fingers into MacLeod's cheeks and forced the Scot to face him.

The ancient Immortal couldn't help but smile, remembering the remote past and the number of victims he had held in this way, and the pleasure he had felt taking them. Seeing the fear in Duncan's eyes brought that old...that vicious...Methos again to the surface, pushing back his logical, emotionally-detached side. In his mind, all he could think about was taking what he wanted from this unwilling, yet very delectable, prize.

"I swore I'd see this through the end," Methos said leering, his fingers caressing the younger man's neck as cruel fingers teased the neckband loose. "And I will... * whether you like it or not! *"

At these words, the oldest Immortal gripped the neckline of the dress and ripped the bodice apart.

"Noooo!" Duncan cried as Methos clung firmly to his waist, tearing the sleeves off his shoulders and down his arms, the buttons flying as he jerked them off from the wrists. The torn gown fell in a pool around his ankles.

The older Immortal gazed at the corsetted male flesh before him with intense desire. The tight undergarment had pushed up the Scot's chest quite tantalizingly. Amanda had even rouged Duncan's nipples a rosy pink.

Entwining his fingers in the Highlander's hair, Methos pulled his head back hard that his chest arched forward. Greedily, he began to suck hard on the tiny peaks, letting his tongue taste the tips of the hardening nubs as blood began to trickle from them. Duncan cried out as the older man sank his teeth into his left tit.

Methos then pushed him down on the bed, placing a pillow behind Duncan's back that his chest was lifted, the taut, sensitive nipples pointing upward in readiness. His hand fell upon the white sash that Amanda used to secure the Highlander's sex and balls to his belly.

"A modesty band?" Methos asked mockingly. "To preserve the illusion of your brief stint at femininity?" The older man smirked. "All right! We'll keep it on! After all, you are pretending to be a cheap whore!"

Duncan winced as a rough hand rubbed his thigh. As the fingers went up between his legs, the Highlander decided to fight back, hoping to use his superior strength to throw the man off. However, he underestimated the ancient Immortal's strength, especially when the older man was enraged.

Methos grabbed Duncan's flailing hands, pinning them down to his sides with his knees. In a matter of seconds, he removed the Scot's shoes and peeled the stockings off. Then, he pulled the younger man's hands over his head and secured the wrists with the stockings.

In desperation, the Highlander brought his bound fists down and struck Methos on the back of the head. But the blow made the older Immortal's temper flair up even more and he hit Duncan in the face with his fist, the Scot's head whipping to the side, blood flowing from a corner of his mouth.

As the other lay dazed, Methos peeled off his own boots and socks and removed his slacks, releasing his stiffening member. Slinging Duncan's legs over his shoulders, the Immortal positioned himself between the shapely thighs, spreading them wide apart until he could see the tiny rosebud.

"Don't do this to me! Please don't!" Duncan pleaded with him.

But Methos ignored his pleas. Instead, he positioned his penis at the puckered opening. "I'm sorry, Duncan," he said mockingly. "But you'll just have to lie back and bear it!"

Methos parted the rounded asscheeks, pressing the head of his cock to the anus. Instinctively, the Highlander constricted his muscles hard, denying the member entry.

"Let me in! Damn it!" the older man grunted, thrusting again and again at the sealed opening unsuccessfully.

Though the pain burned his entire being, Duncan desperately fought back against the invader that was battering him, biting his lower lip until he could taste blood.

"So you want to play rough, huh?" Methos snarled.

The Immortal lifted the younger man slightly off the bed, cradling the upper back with his left hand. The fingers of his right hand closed over the bleeding left tit as he lowered his open mouth to the right nub.

Without warning, Methos simultaneously bit down and squeezed the nipples hard. The sudden pain caused the Highlander to cry out, his concentration momentarily broken. But those brief seconds were enough for Methos.

Duncan screamed as the older man suddenly thrust inside him, his inner flesh tearing at the savage violation. Feebly, he tried to push Methos away but the Immortal had the leverage. As Methos dry-fucked him, weak cries of pain escaped from the Highlander's lips. With one last thrust, the ancient Immortal buried himself to the hilt.

"You are so tight," Methos commented, marveling at Duncan's inner heat enveloping his penis.

Brutally, the older man pushed in and out, unmindful of the excruciating pain he was causing the Highlander. As tears fell down his cheeks, Duncan dared to look up at Methos, his anguished eyes begging him to stop.

Then, his eyes widened. A face kept on overlapping with that of the ancient Immortal's. The Scot blinked hard and, when he gazed up, the face was replaced by another...and another...and another...

Duncan shook his head, the vision of leering faces overwhelming him. He pressed his bound hands to his lips, his teeth sinking into his fingers, drawing blood. Closing his eyes, he sobbed wretchedly, feeling the tremors of his body gradually increasing in intensity as Methos continued his merciless penetration.

Methos, however, was so caught up with fulfilling his release that he barely noticed the quaking of the body beneath him. He even pulled Duncan's hands from his mouth, jerking them way up over his head.

As he pinioned the wrists with the left hand, he glanced down at the writhing young man. "Don't cover your face, MacLeod," he mumbled in pleasure. "I want to see your beauty when I come."

Duncan heard the words, but not in Methos' voice. Instead, it was a voice from his distant past – someone who had said the very same thing to him, someone who had used him the same way the older Immortal was using him now.

The climax was nearing and Methos pumped harder and faster. Already, Duncan's cries were nothing more than hoarse whimpers as he thrashed his head left and right in sheer agony.

Finally, Methos gave one last devastating thrust as he reached orgasm, filling the Highlander with his seed. Snapping his head upward, Duncan screamed in anguish, his ass muscles clamping hard around the ancient Immortal's pulsing shaft with a grip of steel...and refused to let go.

Amanda finished telling Joe everything about Duncan and Methos' troubled relationship, and the lengths the younger man was willing to go through to earn the older Immortal's love.

What the pretty thief didn't expect was for Joe to suddenly turn pale.

"About that gown," he began, his voice barely a whisper. "Is it a silk gown? White and pink, with roses embroidered on it?"

"Why, yes! But how did you know?"

In reply, the Watcher slammed his fist on the table with a loud bang, causing Amanda to almost jump in her seat.

"Damn!" the Watcher cursed, unmindful of the other people staring at him.

"Joe?" Amanda queried. Given his violent reaction, it was her turn to be worried now. "What is it?"

Picking up his cane, Joe quickly stood up. "Come on! We have to go to the old Watchers headquarters. I only pray I'm wrong about that dress."

After an hour through Paris traffic in Joe's rental car, the duo reached the former building which housed the secret organization. The Watcher was relieved that the handful of staff left on the premises were men and women he could trust, who approved of his close friendship with MacLeod. None of them even turned their heads when they saw him go down to the basement with Amanda.

Pointing to the large chest in the corner, he asked politely, "Would you please look at what's inside that trunk?"

Amanda couldn't help but smile. Even under duress, the Watcher was still a perfect gentleman. She flicked the latches up and opened the lid. Going through its contents, she replied, "Nothing here but a bunch of old clothes. They're in pretty good condition though."

"I'm not surprised," Joe was looking at the rickety library, searching through the chronicles on the shelves. "That's where I hid that damned gown and corset."

"I don't understand. What's wrong about women's clothing?"

The Watcher didn't answer at first, at last finding what he was searching for behind a stack of chronicles. Amanda peeked over his shoulder and saw that Joe was holding a book. It looked like a typical Watcher's journal, but there was no emblem embossed on the black leather cover.

"Nothing," Joe answered finally, flipping through the pages until he found the portion he was looking for. "It's just that particular set of women's clothing."

Because of the dim light, Amanda could barely read the writing on the journal. But its contents were enough to make the Watcher's face harden.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed in anger. "I knew I should have destroyed those things when I found them ten years ago. This journal, too."

This comment greatly alarmed Amanda. "Joe, you're frightening me! Please tell me what's wrong! Is Mac in trouble?"

"You can read all about it in the car," he said, handing the open journal to her. "We have to get back to your hotel room, and fast! I just hope we're not too late."

Amanda took the chronicle, gripping it tightly in her hand, inserting her finger between the chosen pages, as she went after the Watcher.

Methos has his hands braced on the bed as he gasped for breath. In the five millennia that he has lived, nothing like this has ever happened to him before. In fact, the ancient Immortal hasn't seen or felt anything like it in all his life. If it had happened to someone else, he probably would have found it comical, an amusing tale to tell his handful of friends.

Unfortunately, it was happening to him, and the agony he was causing the absolutely terrified younger man beneath him was all too real.

"Duncan?" he asked softly.

The Highlander's eyes were shut tightly, refusing to look at him. The eye make-up had run down his cheeks in dark streaks from his tears. His lips were parted, allowing his rapid breaths to go in and out, in and out. From his position, Methos could see the ugly bruises on the Scot's arms and body. Blood flowed from the bite wound around his areola. There were even slight trickles from the tips of Duncan's nipples, caused by the older man's intense sucking.

To the Immortal's dismay, he could clearly see that the Highlander was not healing as fast as he used to.

"Oh, God! Duncan, I'm sorry!" Methos said, his guilt overwhelming him. "I'm so sorry!"

But the Scot was in deep shock and didn't seem to hear him.

Nevertheless, Methos still tried to reach Duncan, hoping that he could relax the younger man enough so he could pull out of him. Already, he could feel his cramped arms tremble, wanting to give way.

"Duncan, if you can hear me, I have to move a bit. I'll see if I could get out of you. Please don't be afraid. I'll be very careful. Just try, please try to relax."

Slowly, gritting his teeth, Methos began to rock his hips, pushing his cock in and out by very minute degrees, trying to stretch the extremely constricted channel. When Duncan whimpered, he paused, afraid to trigger another strong spasm, feeling the tell-tale tremors starting. He waited patiently until the tremors passed before beginning again.

But it was very difficult, given the precarious position he was in. Plus, his arms were getting numb. Methos knew he had to get the circulation going in his limbs.

Leaning on his left, the ancient Immortal raised his right hand, slowly, flexing his muscles. However, his left arm couldn't support his weight. Before he could prop himself up once more, Methos totally collapsed on top of the Highlander, burying his penis hard to the hilt.

Arching his body upward, Duncan gave a heart-wrenching cry as he spasmed violently. Feeling that vise grip clamp around his cock, Methos howled in pain.

"No! What have I done?" Amanda exclaimed in horror, snapping the journal close, completely disgusted by what she had read.

"You couldn't have known, Amanda," Joe answered. He didn't notice that his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he sped through the Paris streets. "Mac never told anyone what happened to him. Not even Connor."

His lips formed a thin, grim line as he steered the car up the hotel driveway. Getting out, the Watcher tossed the keys to the valet.

Turning to Amanda, he stated worriedly, "I hope we're not too late."

The Watcher and the Immortal quickly walked through the lobby and went straight to the elevator, going up to the Seventh Floor. As the doors opened, they made their way to the suite. For a moment, Amanda fumbled with her keys.

"Mac! Adam!" called Joe as Amanda finally opened the door. But the front parlor was empty.

"In the bedroom," the thief pointed to the closed door.

As they went near the bedroom door, it was then that they heard the sounds, disturbing sounds. Nervous whispers, uncontrollable sobs, followed by an anguished wail and a cry of pain.

"God! What's happening in there?" Amanda exclaimed, almost dropping her keys in her haste to unlock the door.

"Hurry, Amanda!" Joe prodded urgently, hearing distraught weeping inside. "Hurry, damn it!"

At last, the Immortal felt the key turn in the lock. Together, they burst through the door. They have just taken a few steps inside when they stopped instantly, their mouths dropping open at the appalling scene before them.

On the bed, Methos was straddling Duncan, holding the younger man in his embrace. The Highlander was obviously in great pain. He was thrashing his head from side to side, his bound hands weakly pushing away the man above him.

"YOU BASTARD!" Joe roared, his fury rising, unable to take the sight of his best friend being ravished.

Amanda was just as angry, about to pull out her sword...until she saw the look on Methos' face. The oldest Immortal was also in agony, matching that of the Scot's. Seeing their positions, it was then that she realized what was happening. Amanda had seen this happen before to a man and woman she had a casual acquaintance with. This was the first time she saw it occur between two men.

So stunned was she at this revelation that, when she shook herself out of her thoughts, Joe was already halfway across the room, hobbling determinedly towards Methos.

"Joe, no!" Amanda cried out, seeing the Watcher reach the foot of the bed.

Joe ignored her though, his mind filled with images of his charge – His Immortal – weeping and in terrible pain.

"GET OFF HIM, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he bellowed, laying a heavy hand on Methos' shoulder.

"Joe, DON'T!, Methos gave a warning shout.

But Joe was only seeing red. The Watcher dug his fingers into Methos' shoulder and yanked hard, wanting to get him off the Highlander.

Then, Duncan's eyes flew wide open, feeling his flesh tear violently. Screaming, he spasmed with such force that Methos thought his penis was severed, forcing an anguished cry from him as well.

Joe stepped back in shock, hearing their screams. Glancing down between the two men, he turned as white as a sheet, seeing that the Immortals were tightly joined.

"Oh my God!" he stammered as he took another step away from the bed.

But Duncan's continuous screams pierced his stunned mind that the Watcher just found himself sitting by the bed, trembling fingers touching the fevered brow.

"I'm sorry, Mac," he whispered to the distraught figure on the bed. Turning to Methos, Joe added with a choked sob, "I didn't mean to do that. I didn't meant to hurt you."

However, the Scot continued to scream and they feared that he would go mad from the pain.

"Joe! Help us! Please!" Methos begged as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I've done everything I could!"

Amanda finally found her voice. "We have to get Mac to relax. We have to put him to sleep."

Joe felt his mind working at these words. Luckily, he found the solution. "Tranquilizers!"

Without saying another word, the thief scooted towards the dresser. She pulled out a vial and a syringe. Quickly, Amanda filled up the syringe with the drug. The Watcher never even thought to ask why she had tranquilizers. He was just thankful that Amanda had some.

The Immortal handed the syringe to Joe, who then plunged the needle into Duncan's shoulder.

Almost immediately, Methos felt the Scot sag in his arms, falling into a deep sleep. The tremendous pressure around his cock slowly eased. Still, fearful to hurt the younger man again, he gently pulled out of the Highlander, blanching as blood began to flow freely between Duncan's legs, forming a crimson pool on the bed sheets.

"We need to talk," Joe told Methos wearily.

"You can talk to me later," the ancient Immortal snapped at him, removing the Scot's bonds.

Carefully, Methos eased Duncan onto his side and began to untie the stays of the corset. His fingers shook as he tugged at the ties. He also removed the white sash around the Scot's waist, only then realizing that, throughout their ordeal, from the promising beginning to the shocking end, Duncan's member was unresponsive.

Finished, the older Immortal settled the Highlander flat on his back, laying the sash over the younger man's groin. He then stood up, wincing. Clutching the corset tightly in his hand, Methos limped into the bathroom, favoring his aching penis as he closed the door behind him. Still, Joe and Amanda knew what he was doing, judging from the loud tearing sounds they heard within. When he came out, he was dressed in a bathrobe, carrying a basin of warm water and a clean towel.

Laying the basin on the table, Methos sat down. Taking the towel, he dipped it in the water. Gently, he cleaned Duncan's face until no make-up was left. Going down, he daubed at the blood on the Scot's chest. Methos burst into sobs as he pressed on the bite wounds of Duncan's nipples that were slow to heal.

By the time he reached the lower part of the Highlander's body, Methos was weeping, full of deep remorse. He washed the blood and semen away from Duncan's ass and legs, his tears mixing with the cleansing water.

When he was through, Methos removed the stained bed sheets and tucked Duncan in with the blanket. He then picked up his clothes and went back into the bathroom, bearing the basin and the towel as well. This time, the older man stayed inside longer, and Joe and Amanda heard the sound of running water.

Soon, Methos stepped out of the bath, fully dressed, his hair wet from the shower. He paused to look at Duncan's sleeping figure.

Turning to Joe, he said, "Now, we can talk."

The Watcher merely nodded his head.

"Amanda," Methos began softly, "please take care of Duncan."

Amanda sat down at the edge of the bed beside the Scot. As he ran her fingers through Mac's hair, she answered, "I will. Go on, Methos. You and Joe have a lot to talk about."

At these words, Joe placed his hand on Methos' arm and led him out of the room. The older man glanced back at the sleeping Highlander before following the Watcher.

There was no better place for the two men to talk privately than at the barge. Usually at ease in his surroundings, Joe noticed that, for once, the ancient seemed uncomfortable. Though he was already seated on the armchair, Methos still remained standing at the doorway, his eyes clouding with tears.

"Methos?" Joe asked softly.

Hearing his voice, the Immortal smiled wanly. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Methos crossed his arms over his chest and started to walk towards the chair opposite the Watcher.

"I don't know. This place just seems so...different...without Mac here. But even if he's not, maybe if you just focus a bit, you could feel him...smell him...see him."

As the Immortal sagged into the chair, Joe said, "I don't like to hear you talking this way. You make it sound as if Mac was dead."

"But didn't I just...essentially...kill him?" Methos exclaimed in despair. He cupped his face in his hands, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Do you want a beer?"

"No." He raised his head, wiping his nose. "I'd like to get through this thing sober, if you don't mind."

"I just thought it might help you relax a bit," the Watcher suggested.

"How can you relax with a guilty conscience?" Settling into his seat, Methos looked at Joe. "There is no forgiveness for what I've done to him. I'm a hell of a lot older than Mac. Compared to me, he's just a child!" The Immortal groaned. "I should have known better. I should have had better control."

"You've not been yourself lately, Methos," said Joe, trying hard to be understanding. "The Dark Quickening. Alexa's death."

"Ha!" Methos snapped sarcastically. "And is that supposed to make my guilt any lesser? You and I know exactly what I did to Duncan. Damn it, Joe! I've seen all the signs. I shouldn't have pushed him too hard. I should have controlled myself. But I was so damned angry and frustrated..."

"'Signs'?" Joe interrupted him, frowning.

The Immortal looked him straight in the eye. "You're his Watcher, Joe. You tell me. Something happened to Duncan back in 1663, when he was still with Walter Graham's company. Something connected with that dress. Something so bad it's not even in his chronicles."

At these words, Joe leaned into his chair, rubbing his brow. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the journal.

"You don't know the half of it," said the Watcher, handing the journal to Methos. "When I got assigned to Mac, I wanted to learn everything I could about his life. So, before I actually went into the field, I decided to do some in-depth research on him – to find out what Duncan MacLeod was like during his early years as an Immortal. The head of the Watchers at that time figured it was a good idea for me to come to Paris so I could salvage the older chronicles. While I was doing research, I discovered that journal among the reject pile that no one got around to burning. I almost threw it away...until I saw Mac's name in it. After reading it, I...I refused to believe what was written. Then, I found the dress in an abandoned farm in England, just where the journal said it would be. When I held that dress in my hand, I knew it was true. All of it was true."

Joe hesitated for a moment. "Methos..." he said haltingly. "Horton wasn't the first Watcher to interfere."

Seeing the look of horror on the Watcher's face, Methos suddenly felt afraid. He couldn't open the journal, fearful to confirm his suspicions.

"Read it, Methos," Joe urged him, his eyes holding such deep pain and remorse. "I've marked the important pages."

With trembling hands, the Immortal opened the journal to the first page and began to read...

_The Journal of Arthur Merchant  
July 2, 1663_

I am writing this down lest I forget everything that has happened. But I doubt I could forget. I'll be carrying the memories of the past two months with me to the grave.

I have decided to write about my experiences in another chronicle. THIS journal. There is no need for the other Watchers to know what I have done. ''Tis not as if "He" could tell them. "He" does not know of our existence. What is our motto again – "To watch but never to interfere"? Quaint but, in another way, frustrating. 'Tis an easy thing "to watch", especially if "He" is the subject of your observations. But "never to interfere"? That is a different matter.

I consider it fortuitous when, near the end of May, that idiot of a Watcher, William Thomas, cracked his head when he fell off a horse. Since the Immortal I had been watching has moved on and, being within the immediate vicinity, that means Thomas' charge, his Immortal, his was now MINE.

The first time I saw "Him" was on the 10th of April when Thomas took me to see "His" performance with Walter Graham's company. It was a day I remembered well. What was it Thomas said about "Him"? As Kate in Shakespeare's "Taming Of The Shrew", "He" looked like "a simpering fool" in a dress. As if Thomas has read a single word of Shakespeare in his life! I found Graham's performance of Petruchio droller than anything else. But "He", on the other hand, played Kate with shrewish delight. For a man, "He" moved with the charming grace of a lady. Something "He" learned perhaps when "He" was still Kristin Gilles' student and lover? One could only just imagine what "He" would be like if "He" were to play wise Portia or sweet Juliet.

However, it seems that "He" has an aversion to playing women's roles.

I overheard "Him" arguing with Graham between acts, declaring stubbornly, "Next time, I'll play the men's parts. I want ta do the sword fights."

Later, "He" got into a fight with that second-rate actor Jeremy Beaufort. The man was drunk and he was furious with the fact that Walter Graham replaced him. A wise decision, I must emphasize.

"Is there somethin' ye haven't tauld me?" "He" asked Graham suspiciously.

Graham replied, grinning, "I think you make a much better woman than Beaufort."

"He" curtseyed mockingly. "Oh, thank ye kindly!"

Hearing this exchange only made Beaufort angrier. With utter disdain, he sneered, "He gave you my job because you're younger and prettier."

Surprised, I saw "Him" look at Graham, obviously flattered. "Is tha' true?"

I cannot argue with that assessment. There is something about a young man in a dress that just charms me, more so if that man is an Immortal named Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

Methos frowned as he read the journal. The Watcher had an impressive memory, recalling every conversation he had with Thomas accurately. The next few pages were tawdry tributes to Duncan's performances as Kate. However, they thinly disguised the fact that Merchant was more taken by the Scot's physical beauty.

"This man's obsessed," the ancient declared, grimacing in disgust.

"I know," Joe replied. "You can skip the next pages and jump ahead."

Methos flipped through the journal and found the next marked section...

_May 16, 1663_

The fates were truly with me. A visit to the local clothier, Madame Elise Fournier, proved to be a pleasant surprise, especially when I heard a familiar voice at the back of Madame Fournier's shop.

"Nay! Ye promised me, Walter!" Duncan MacLeod argued strongly from behind a closed door. Standing outside the room, trying to placate the irate Scot, were Walter Graham and Madame Fournier.

"Come now, MacLeod," Graham pleaded earnestly. "Just this last time. I cannot find anyone on such short notice. Even I couldn't get Beaufort back."

"I AM NO' WEARIN' THESE THINGS!" Duncan said adamantly. "Now, give me back ma clothes or I'll tear these garments ta shreds!"

"Oh, no!" Madame Fournier exclaimed in alarm. "Please don't, sir! I've worked so hard on them!"

Unable to resist, I decided to step forward. "What is going on here?"

Seeing me, Graham, that pompous ass, gave me a wide smile.

"Mr. Merchant," he said warmly. "I am so pleased to meet you at last! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Walter Graham and I head the company of players currently visiting your lovely town. Thank you for allowing us to entertain your good citizens."

"I too thank you for honoring us with your presence," I said, though I was thinking more about the young Scot. "Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, forgive me, sir. But one of my actors is having second thoughts about playing a woman's part."

"And what part is that?"

"Juliet," answered Graham. "We're staging 'Romeo And Juliet'."

I felt my breath catch in my throat. 'Tis too good to be true!

"I am hoping to convince Duncan MacLeod to play the part," he continued.

"NEVER!" the Highlander retorted vehemently inside the room. "Ye promised me! NO MAIR WOMEN'S PARTS!"

Graham was about to answer back, but I waved a finger at him. "Let me handle this!"

Clearing my throat, I then began, "Mr. MacLeod, I am Arthur Merchant, the alderman of this town. What is the problem?"

"He wants me ta play Juliet whan he promised me tha', after Kate, I'll get the men's parts."

"I can't find anyone else!" Graham whined.

"Then ye can play Juliet!" Duncan countered angrily.

"Now, now, Mr. MacLeod. Please be a bit reasonable," I tried to soothe him. "If Mr. Graham here has a suitable replacement for you, I'm sure he'll let you play a man's role. But for now, he has no one. He would not be begging you if he didn't have confidence in your abilities as an actor. I, myself, have seen you perform and I am very impressed."

"But he wants me ta wear a corset!" Duncan sputtered with intense disgust.

I almost choked when I heard that word. "A corset?"

Embarrassed, Graham said, "Yes. I designed this special undergarment and I had Madame Fournier make it using Duncan's measurements. The corset would enhance the illusion of...er...femininity in a male actor, in this case, Mr. MacLeod...if he should agree to play a woman."

"YE'D 'AVE TA TAKE MA HEAD FIRST!" the Highlander retorted.

I gave Graham an exasperated glare though, inwardly, I was very pleased at this prospect. Convincing the Scot, however, was a different matter.

"Uh, Mr. MacLeod," I began tactfully, "I can understand how...uncomfortable...you might be about wearing a lady's undergarment. And I think 'tis this more than anything else that makes you apprehensive about playing Juliet. Am I right?"

There was silence on the other side of the door and I knew I had hit my mark.

Then, a small voice replied, "Aye."

"All right then," I said in finality. "I can assure you that this will be the last time that you will play a woman. Am I right, Mr. Graham? You'll find someone to take over the role."

"Yes, I swear it!" Graham promised, trying to sound sincere, though I could see his hands behind his back. Crossing his fingers, no doubt.

Again, there was silence. Then, grudgingly, MacLeod answered, "Verra well! I'll do it!"

I smiled at this hesitant reply. "That's a good lad! Now, I'm sure your costume needs to be fitted properly. So why don't you put the garments on and Madame Fournier could make the necessary adjustments."

"And don't forget to let your hair down," Graham piped in mischievously.

Inside, there was the sound of angry mumbling and the soft rustle of clothes. This was followed by a muffled curse.

"I need help wi' these...clothes," Duncan stated, the tone in his voice a mixture of embarrassment and a clear unwillingness to ask for assistance.

Walter Graham was about to step inside when the Highlander declared, "I dinna mean ye, Walter!"

"Maybe Madame could assist you?" I inquired.

"Nay! Cad ye be so kind...if...ye are..." There was a soft click as the door was unlocked.

Hiding how pleased I am at this response was very difficult. Nevertheless, I steeled myself for the pleasurable task at hand and strode inside the room.

Duncan MacLeod stood in the center of Madame Fournier's boudoir. He was already wearing the dress, but the bodice hung down before him at the waist. His dark brown hair was pinned up in a loose bun. The young Scot was obviously surprised upon seeing me that he clutched a shawl to his body. It was expected, however. I am a big man – both in height and build, something I owe to my Scandinavian ancestors. I stood a hand's length taller than MacLeod.

"How could I be of assistance?" I asked, bowing to the beautiful young man before me.

Despite his wariness, Duncan turned his back to me. I saw that the stays of the corset needed tying.

Without a word, I went towards the Highlander and began lacing him up tightly. I could heard MacLeod breathe in lightly. I stole a quick glance at the mirror. Duncan's full lips were slightly parted as he breathed.

When there were only three pairs of eyelets left to be strung, I said casually, "Now, let me fix it."

The young man hesitantly faced me, slowly lowering the shawl.

I have to hand it to Walter Graham, but the Immortal has an incredible eye for costume design. Instead of cups, the corset had padded supports that, if positioned under a man's chest, could push the firm flesh up. Gently, I tugged the thick shelves under Duncan's chest. I made him turn around once more as I secured the corset. As I faced him, I saw that the undergarment has lifted the firm mounds of the Scot's chest into a semblance of a woman's bosom. It took tremendous effort not to run my fingers over Duncan's sweet buds.

Before my body could betray me, I made him turn his back to me. "Let's get you completely dressed up."

Hearing this, the Scot pulled the bodice up, putting his arms into the sleeves. When the dress was in place, I began securing the ties at the back.

MacLeod looked down at himself. Pouting, he commented, "I look ridiculous!"

I almost laughed at these words. "On the contrary!"

Leading the young man to the mirror, I removed the pins from his hair. At once, a waterfall of sable silk cascaded down my fingers, reaching the small of his back.

MacLeod must have noticed my silence because he said sullenly, "If I knew this was the real reason why Walter wanted ma hair this long, I wad 'ave put a razor ta it weeks ago."

But the Highlander paused upon seeing his reflection. Truly, he was a sight to behold. With the exception of the down on his chest, Duncan made quite an attractive woman.

"Oooh!" Madame Fournier suddenly exclaimed behind us, barely hiding the surprise in her voice. "I cannot believe this! You look beautiful!"

"You are absolutely fetching, MacLeod!" Walter praised, clapping his hands in delight. He then added, "Now, all we need to do is to...uh..." I wasn't surprised at all that the actor was pointing discreetly to the Scot's chest.

"NAY!" Duncan declared, shocked at the suggestion. Hastily, he slung the shawl over his bare shoulders.

As Madame Fournier made final adjustments on the dress, the Scot said, "I'm givin' ye a week, Walter, ta find someone ta take ma place. After tha', I'm leavin'."

"Duncan, I cannot find a replacement within a week!" Graham complained.

"Tha's yer problem!"

"Mr. MacLeod, please be a little reasonable," I remarked. "Give Mr. Graham here time to find a new actor. Once he finds a replacement for you, I promise you can leave."

Duncan breathed in deeply. "All right! A month!" Seeing that Graham was about to argue once more, he cut him off. "No mair arguments!"

One month. It's more than enough time.

"Mr. MacLeod, one you're through, perhaps I might invite you and Mr. Graham here to join me for a pint of ale."

I felt my breath catch in my throat as the Highlander bestowed upon me a most gracious smile. "Aye! I wad like tha'," he answered.

Things would be a lot easier than I thought.

The next entries described how Merchant slowly began to ingratiate himself towards the Scot, gaining his trust. Duncan was totally oblivious to the fact that his supposed "friend" had an ulterior motive. He trusted the man completely that Merchant had intimate knowledge of the Scot's daily routine...and the one time that he would be most vulnerable.

Worse, Merchant had found willing accomplices in his scheme, miscreants all who shared his perverse lust for the Highlander. It was only a matter of time when they would put the plan into motion.

Methos laid Merchant's journal on the table, staring at the marked page, suddenly afraid to continue, to find out what happened next.

Joe looked at him worriedly. "Methos? If this is bothering you, I could..."

The ancient Immortal sighed as he picked up the journal once more. "No. I need to know everything. I have to know, Joe."

The Watcher nodded his head in sympathy.

Methos looked at Joe before, at last, turning to the dreaded page.

_June 13, 1663_

His final performance for the day has ended and, as was his wont, Duncan MacLeod walked into the woods, heading for the stream. He carried his clothes that were tied up in a bundle hanging on his left arm. In his right hand, he held his sheathed sword. To protect the silk gown, he wore a hooded cloak. Unknown to him, my men were already lying in wait for him at his favorite spot while I followed close behind.

Reaching the stream, Duncan lowered his hood. Bending down, he pulled out a clean cloth from his bundle, dipped it into the cool water and began washing away the powder from his face. I felt the heat in my loins as the cloth went down to the curve of his chest. Right then and there, I knew I couldn't wait any longer.

As I emerged from between two trees, MacLeod looked up, startled to see me. But his surprise was only momentary as a broad smile formed on his face.

"Arthur!" he greeted. "Fancy seein' ye here!"

Duncan stood up and went towards me. He was so trusting he completely forgot about his sword, which lay on the bank.

"Wha' are ye doin' here?" the young Scot asked cheerfully. "Bored wi' the performance? I know I wad be, if I were in yer place."

I looked at him through narrowed eyes. "'Tis never boring if it's you up on that stage."

Duncan laughed at these words. "I'm no' tha' good!"

"You're too humble, Duncan," I said as I raised a hand, lightly brushing his cheek, "and so very beautiful."

I saw the confusion in the Highlander's eyes. "I dinna understand."

Running my fingers through his hair, I muttered, "I've always wanted you, Duncan MacLeod. I want you to be mine."

Saying this, I pressed my mouth over the soft, full lips. MacLeod pushed me away in shock.

"No!" he gasped in outrage and fear.

Hiking up his skirts, Duncan ran for his sword. But the long gown and cloak hampered his movement that I was able to grab him, clamping a heavy hand over his mouth. The Scot struggled furiously in my arms. However, my men emerged from their hiding places and gripped his flailing arms and legs. Swiftly, we carried our captive further upstream, deeper into the forest, where no one could disturb us.

Reaching a secluded clearing, we slowly laid our prize down. MacLeod was in a fury. His fist connected with one man's nose, sending him flying. The Highlander fought back, landing a few well-placed blows on my men. But he was outnumbered six to one. And he forgot about me.

As he spun around, I let my fist fly out, clipping him hard in the jaw. MacLeod fell reeling to the ground. Before he could get up, I struck him once more in the face. Entwining my fingers in the silk tresses, I jerked his head up.

"Don't make this difficult on yourself, Duncan," I told him, forcing him to look at me.

"Why are ye doin' this?" the Highlander uttered in disbelief. "I trusted ye!"

"I've always wanted you. Give yourself to me, Duncan, willingly. I swear I won't hurt you."

But as I held his arm, the Scot slapped my hand away. * "Dinna touch me!" *

I felt the anger rise inside me and I yanked him to his feet by his hair. Quickly, I kneed him in the belly. Duncan doubled over in pain. Pulling out my sword, I laid the sharp blade over his neck. Fear flashed in the Scot's eyes, feeling the cold steel.

"Are you so eager to die?" I asked softly, walking around him. For emphasis, I nicked his throat with the sharp point, eliciting a gasp from him. Turning to one man, I handed the blade to him, still at the same precarious position. "Hold this!"

Bending down on one knee behind him, I removed his cloak, baring the smooth, golden skin. As I unlaced the ties of the gown at his back, I could feel Duncan tense when I kissed his bare shoulder.

"Why choose death when there are so many pleasures I can offer you?" I whispered in his ear, tugging the bodice down his arms with both hands.

At once, MacLeod tried to get up but I quickly put my arms around him, my hands reaching for his chest. His body shuddered violently as I began pinching the sweet buds into points of desire.

"Please!" Duncan begged. "Dinna do this ta me!"

In reply, I twisted a peak so hard that the Highlander squirmed in my embrace.

Nipping at his neck, I muttered, "I've heard that you were once the 'kept man' of a lady in Normandy, that she taught you the ways of a gentleman and a lover. I wonder, has she taught you how to please another man, Duncan? Or are you still a virgin in that area?"

"Nooo!" Duncan roared in anger and fear, as I lifted him up for my men to carefully pull the gown down and off his legs. No need to get such a lovely dress dirty. They also removed his shoes, stockings and jerkins. The corset, I chose to leave it on him for the moment. Using the cloak as a blanket, I laid the Highlander on top of it, my men pinning his struggling form down.

I gazed at the beauty lying before me hungrily as I removed my shirt and loosened my trousers. Straddling him, I gripped MacLeod's wrists tightly over his head.

Grinning at the terrified young Immortal, I said in a low voice, "Time for new lessons, Duncan."

Methos suddenly lurched to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom, retching violently. Though the nausea soon passed, still, the vivid images invoked by Merchant's journal remained inside his head, flashing with such intensity that he leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

Holding his face in his hands, in his mind's eye, the ancient Immortal could see Merchant taking the Highlander, thrusting with wild abandon, tearing the virgin flesh beneath him. He could see the Watcher stand up when he was sated and clearly tell his men, "You may have him." He could see the horror in Duncan's eyes as those men surrounded him like a pack of mad dogs.

"Oh my God!" Methos wept, but the images kept coming, assaulting his senses. Images of Duncan, his head thrown back, mouth forcibly opened as a man stood above him, opening his trousers. Of Duncan on his hands and knees, being ravished by one man after another. Of Duncan being taken by two to three men at the same time. Of Duncan, Merchant and a sword...

But it was the sounds inside his head that hit him hardest -- sounds of the Highlander begging, crying, screaming. And those words – "Don't hide your face, MacLeod. I want to see your beauty as I come." Words Merchant used in 1663. The same words Methos spoke earlier. Essentially, the same circumstances.

The door to the bathroom slowly opened and Joe stepped inside. Gingerly, the Watcher settled down beside him.

"Methos?" he asked, raising a hand to his friend.

The Immortal took what was offered. He curled up into Joe's embrace, weeping bitterly, saying how sorry he was over and over and over again.

Amanda sat on a chair beside the bed, holding MacLeod's hand. After dressing him up in a robe, she had taken that guarded position. She was tired, her mind and heart exhausted by the day's events, that she dozed off. When she awoke, the sight of anguished dark brown eyes greeted her.

"Amanda?" Duncan asked hoarsely. "Where's Methos?"

The pretty thief ignored his question, quickly sitting on the bed beside him, laying her hand soothingly over the Scot's brow. "Hush, Duncan," she whispered gently. "Don't talk. You must rest."

"There's something I have to tell you..."

"We can talk later."

"But..."

Swallowing hard, she interrupted him. "I know what happened," putting as much meaning into that statement as possible.

"Do you?" Duncan argued brokenly. He squeezed her hand tightly. "Please, Amanda. I want you to hear me out."

Though it was against her better judgment, Amanda nodded her head.

The Highlander paused for a moment then slowly began to speak. "Back in 1663, when I was still one of Walter Graham's players, I met this man who became my friend and I trusted him...blindly. I never realized that he wanted to earn my trust so he could catch me off guard. So he and his men could take me...rape...me."

Hearing that confession from his own lips almost caused Amanda to reel back in shock. But she strengthened her resolve, gripping the Scot's hand comfortingly. She had to help Duncan get through this.

"They...hurt...me. They hurt me so badly. They made me feel so filthy," he admitted. "Merchant even made me...fuck...myself on his sword's hilt. After it happened, Merchant told me that he wasn't finished with me, that he already owns me. I couldn't take another ravishing. It would kill me. That same night, I left the company without telling anyone what happened to me or where I was going, not even Walter. It took over a year for me to heal, to forget the horrible things they did to me. But I did forget...eventually. I thought it would stay buried in the past."

"It should've stayed in the past," Amanda declared, not hiding the anger in her words, "if it wasn't for Methos."

Duncan shook his head. "It's NOT Methos' fault. If there's anyone to blame for this mess, it's me, not him."

"Methos raped you!"

"But I raped him first. At LeHavre. When I was under the influence of the Dark Quickening. After the magic spring healed me, I realized that I was in love with Methos. And that, despite what I did to him, that he loved me as well. I thought things would be alright, that I could have a relationship with another man. But then, I noticed that something was...missing...inside me." Duncan shook his head. "It's so hard to put it into words."

"Try, Duncan," Amanda urged him. "Just say what you feel."

"That's just it. It's easy for me to say what I feel but I can't show it, especially love. I could say 'I love you.' But I can't 'make' love. Do you understand?"

The thief was taken aback at these words. After the events surrounding the Methuselah Stone, she and Duncan had tried to make love. However, there was a total absence of feeling in their coupling. It was just sex, PERIOD. It's not that he couldn't get it up. But making love with Duncan has always been an intense experience, because of his capacity to show his emotions in every kiss and every touch. Amanda noticed the change back then, but she thought it was because he was worried about Methos.

Duncan smiled weakly. "Do you know that I've been seducing Methos? I was hoping he could help me get past this...this impediment. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. Then this terrible memory suddenly came to the surface. We just ended up hurting each other."

Saying this, the Scot got up abruptly. Before Amanda could stop him, Duncan swung his legs on the side of the bed. With trembling fingers, he picked up his clothes and began to get dressed.

"Methos! I must find him!" he said excitedly as he got to his feet, wobbling a bit, unmindful of the blood that trickled down between his legs, staining his jeans.

"You're not going anywhere!" Amanda declared, blocking his way.

Duncan shook his head desperately. "Amanda, you don't understand! I love him! I don't know how I'm going to live without him!"

"God, Mac! What's happening to you? You're not acting rationally! This isn't you!"

To Amanda's shock, Duncan pushed her down to the floor. "Get out of my way!" he snarled.

"Duncan, no!" the thief could only raise a beseeching hand as the Highlander stormed out of the room.

Joe had accompanied the ancient back to his apartment, watching in silence as Methos packed his things.

As he zipped his duffel bag close, he said, "You don't have to leave."

Methos sighed. "I don't have any choice. If I stay, there's a stronger chance that I'll see Mac again. Joe, I don't want to hurt him anymore. You're his Watcher. Would you entrust MacLeod to me knowing that I had raped him?"

"There must be another way," the Watcher argued. "I know Mac. I know he loves you. Surely you can talk to him and work this thing out."

"Joe..." the ancient began to say but he paused, eyes wide, as he felt the presence of another Immortal. "Damn!" he cursed under his breath, swiftly picking up his bag.

"What is it?" asked Joe, going after Methos.

The two men quickly but silently descended to the ground floor via the lift. Rather than go through the Front Door, Methos decided to go out the back. Just as he opened the door, the ancient stopped abruptly that Joe bumped into him. Peering over Methos' shoulder, the Watcher saw the reason for Methos' haste.

Duncan stood at the foot of the small stairs, shaking all over as he held himself tightly. The formerly pristine Scot was totally disheveled, his eyes blood shot. But what shocked them the most was the obvious bloodstain between his thighs.

"Methos," the Highlander said tentatively, "could we talk?"

The elder Immortal swallowed hard, seeing the result of his cruel handiwork and went down the stairs.

Brushing past the troubled younger man, he headed straight for his car in the parking lot. "There's nothing to talk about, Mac."

"I'm sorry!" Duncan blurted out, running after him. "Did I hurt you, Methos? I'm so sorry! Please tell me you forgive me!"

Yanking the car door open, he threw his bag in the backseat. Rounding on the poor Scot, Methos exclaimed, "Stop saying you're sorry! This is my fault! Everything that's happened is all MY fault!"

"Methos, don't say that! I'm the one who led you on. I'm the one who couldn't please you!"

The ancient stared at him aghast. Even Joe couldn't believe what he was hearing.

In frustration, Methos grabbed Duncan's shoulders and tried to shake some sense into him. "I raped you, Duncan! There's no forgiveness for what I did to you!"

"But I also took advantage of you at LeHavre," the Highlander insisted. "You could say we're even now."

"Are you listening to what you're saying?" cried Methos in despair. "God, Mac! You're not yourself! I can't stay here with you acting like this! I might hurt you again!"

Tears began falling from Duncan's eyes and Methos thought his heart would break.

"Methos, I'm begging you! Please don't leave!" the Scot sobbed, pleading earnestly. "I swear I'll do anything to make you happy! Just please don't go!"

But Methos shook his head. With a resigned shrug, he exclaimed, "I can't stay! I'm sorry!"

Saying this, the ancient quickly got inside his car and started the ignition.

As the engine roared to life, Duncan's fingers found the door handle but Methos had locked it. The Highlander pounded desperately on the window.

"Methos, no!" wept Duncan. "Don't go! Don't leave me!"

Strong arms embraced the Scot, hauling him away from the car. Methos saw that it was Joe.

Looking at the distraught young man one last time, Methos sadly mouthed the words "Forgive me!" and drove off.

"Nooo! Dear Jesus, nooo!" the Highlander shouted, seeing the car leave the parking lot. "Damn you, Joe! Let me go!"

Duncan wrenched away from the Watcher's grasp before Joe could get a firm hold on him.

"Mac, wait!" the Watcher yelled at him.

But the Highlander would not listen. Joe watched helplessly as Duncan sped out of the parking lot, running after the older Immortal. By the time the Watcher reached the sidewalk, both the Scot and the ancient were nowhere to be found.

Duncan had run for several blocks, but he never caught up with Methos. Weary, his mind blinded with grief, he wandered the streets of Paris aimlessly, unmindful of the stares people accorded him as he passed by, or the blood that flowed once more between his legs.

The Highlander roamed the streets, until he found himself in a dark alley in the seedy district of the city. At last giving vent to his tears, he slumped down on the dirty pavement, leaning against the chain link fence, sobbing pitifully. So lost was he in his grief that he didn't notice the passage of time. Neither did he notice the tall figure who paused at the entrance to the alley, two hours later, and began walking towards him.

When a shadow fell over his trembling form, Duncan gazed up, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of a face he never expected to see again.

"Ye 'ave certainly made a mess o' things this time." The soft burr in the man's accent was unmistakable.

Duncan wanted to run away, but he seemed frozen right on the spot he was sitting at.

Then, a beckoning hand was raised to him, palm up. "Come! 'Tis no' a safe place for both o' us."

Despite his apprehension, Duncan saw genuine compassion in the man's eyes, something he thought the other was incapable of feeling.

Hesitantly, the Highlander took the offered hand and was pulled to his feet. He felt a strong arm wrap around his waist, supporting him. Exhausted, Duncan leaned his head against the man's broad shoulder.

"Let's gae home!" the man whispered.

At these words, they walked out of the alley and into the night, disappearing in the Paris streets.

**C** **ONTINUED IN PASSION'S CAPTIVE.**


End file.
